Living Through the Nightmares
by Ecri
Summary: Chapter six is finally here! Sorry for the delay. I promise I will finish this!!!
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just visiting.

Author's note: This is a sequel to my previous story Trial by Fire. It might be a good idea to read that one first. After I'd posted the last chapter of Trial by Fire, I realized I hadn't quite finished. 

Living Through the Nightmares

Sequel to Trial by Fire

By Ecri

Silent, dangerous, and dark, the streets of Gotham had a reputation for menace and malice. Recently, however, the streets seemed, if not bright, then at least less dangerous. The criminal element still had a strong presence, but it had been curbed by an outside influence.

Batman cruised the streets not even noticing the sweeping architecture adorned with dark, gargoyle-like figures that had become a trademark tourist attraction for Gotham. It wasnt architecture that interested Gotham's Caped Crusader. It was the things that hid in the cracks and crevices of that architecture.

For weeks now, Batman and his crimefighting comrade, Robin, had been cleaning the streets of the city with, some might say, a vengeance. Most of the petty criminals had been rounded up and locked away. The Dynamic Duo had begun a clean sweep of Gotham when they'd heard about The Riddler. 

While being transferred from the courthouse to Arkham Asylum, Riddler had managed to escape, killing two guards in the process. Batman, Robin, and indeed all of Gotham had expected a wave of confounding crimes, but the Riddler had remained frustratingly silent.

Batman and Robin channeled their frustration into their work, giving Gotham a more peaceful few weeks than ever before.

Batman slipped the Batmobile into park, and waited for Robin to park and dismount the Redbird. Robin was already speaking as he walked towards his partner. "I still don't see how Riddler escaped in the first place. I mean they knew he was dangerous. Wouldn't they have been prepared for any tricks?"

"He's a genius, Robin. He outsmarted them."

"But he hasn't made a move." The Duo moved swiftly towards their rendezvous point. The signal was still burning bright in the sky. The Commissioner had information for them.

"He will."

"You say that like you know for certain." 

"I do." Batman could feel the need for answers emanating from his protégé. "He can't help himself. He's a criminal genius, who happens to be criminally insane. He will fall back on crime. It's his nature."

Robin considered this as Batman threw one of his little toys towards the roof of the building they'd approached and flew upwards at the press of a button. The younger man smiled. "Amateurs and their gadgets." He shook his head as he took hold of the fire escape and swung himself up, flipping, leaping, and flying towards the roof with every aerialist trick he knew.

Reaching the roof, Robin found Batman waiting for him. Together they moved towards the Commissioner.

Gordon saw the movement of shadow, and whirled around to face it. A sigh of relief was his immediate response when he realized who was there. "Thank goodness."

"Commissioner, you have news?"

"The Aces and the Lords are stepping up their activity. My men tell me they seem to be amassing for an all out gang war."

"Is this a turf war?" Robin felt a certain sympathy for the gang members having pondered the possibility that, had it not been for Bruce Wayne, he could easily have ended up alone on the streets after his family died. If he had, it was likely he'd have ended up in a gang. He wasn't too proud to admit that he had been seething with anger and thoughts of revenge at the unfair turn his life had taken. A gang would have fed that anger and would have provided a release, however temporary.

Gordon nodded. "The Aces are trying to force the Lords to relocate to another city."

"We'll do what we can, Commissioner." Batman turned back the way they'd come, ushering Robin along with him. 

The Police Commissioner was relieved to have Batman on the case. Things went much more smoothly when he was.

**

Dick Grayson saw his parents flying. Seasoned aerialists who had worked together long enough to anticipate their partners every move, The Flying Graysons had often been accused of possessing some form of telepathic communication. Whenever this was suggested, they would laugh it off. Dick watched now from the platform as his parents practiced for the evening's performance. He nodded to Chris and the two perfectly timed their leaps to the trapeze.

Soon, the foursome soared through the air, leaping towards and catching one another with ease and grace. Dick did a complex turn that ended in his dismount and he landed with practiced ease on the platform from which he'd first begun the practice session. Only upon his turning to watch his family dismount, did he realize all was not well. Chris was slightly off as he reached for his father's wrists. His father tried to correct the position so he could catch his son, but their collision caused both to lose their balance. His mother threw herself from the far platform towards an approaching trapeze, hoping to reach her son and husband. Too late, she mistimed her jump, and joined her family tumbling heels over head to the ground below.

Dick frantically called out to his family, realizing the net with which they usually practiced was not in place. He tried to do something, but found he could not move. Looking down at himself, he saw his arms and legs were tied. He was in his Robin Suit. Confused, he looked down again to see his family bruised and broken on the ground below. 

"No!" Dick bellowed in his dream, only to wake to the sight of a frantic Alfred sitting next to him and shaking his shoulders. 

"It's a dream. Wake up! It's all right."

Dick shook sleep off quickly, but the fear and horror of what he'd seen would not be so easily discarded. "Al?" He asked, frantic.  


"Yes, Master Dick, it's all right. I'm here." Alfred soothed the boy only too easily guessing what his dream may have entailed. He'd been roused from sleep by a troubled youth who'd lost his family more times than he cared to remember. But he remembered each and every time most vividly.

Dick blinked a few times, working to calm his racing heart. "Mymy familyI saw" he stopped, not wanting to bring back memories of the dream.

"You saw themfrom that night?" Alfred tried to be calm, but his heart ached for the young man, as it still ached for Bruce.

"No." The boy shook his head, still confused and frightened. "The result was the same, but I saw them fall from the trapezes during a practice. They made mistakes they never would have in real life."

Alfred nodded. "It's all right. It was just a dream. Nightmares take on a life of their own, playing on old fears we may have forgotten about. I know what you've been through, but it's all right now."

Dick nodded. He was glad to be here with Bruce and Alfred, but he still wished desperately for his family. Of course, if they hadn't died he wouldn't have any reason to know Bruce and Alfred. It wasn't a fair trade, yet he loved what he was doing. He loved the sense of purpose, but he wanted his family back. He wanted what he had lost. It was the fact that he was becoming comfortable in this new life, a life without his family that both puzzled him and, at times, made him angry at himself and ashamed that he could move on and keep living.

"Al, do you think it's" He paused doubting his ability to be communicate clearly when he felt like this

Alfred smiled, encouragingly, gently. "Do I think what?"

Dick looked at Alfred, tears standing in his eyes, and Alfred was convinced that Dick was keeping them from falling through sheer will power. 

"Do you think it's okay with my family thatI mean, I like this life, too. You mean the world to me, Al. Bruce, and the crime fighting thingI like it, but II miss them so muchit hurts. Do you thinkthey'd be upset" Dick stopped himself unable to continue.

Alfred looked Dick squarely in the eye, his face dropping any hint of a smile, but managing to look caring rather than stern. "Listen to me, Richard Grayson. Your family loved you. They cared about you. They would be pleased that you've found a direction in lifea way to carry on. It's all right to enjoy your life. It's not disrespectful to their memory or whatever other silly notion you've got in your head. It's an honor to them that you live your life."

Dick considered his friend's words, nodding slowly, while still sorting through his feelings. "You sound like you've been through this kind of thing before."

Alfred smiled again. "I have had some experience. 

"Thanks, Al."

"You are welcome." He smiled fondly at the boy, and, though Dick protested, Alfred sat with his second son until he fell asleep. 

TBC


	2. part 2

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just visiting. I'm not making any money, and have no intention of trying to make money.

Author's note: This is a sequel to my previous story Trial by Fire. It might be a good idea to read that one first. After I'd posted the last chapter of Trial by Fire, I realized I hadn't quite finished. 

Living Through the Nightmares Part 2

Sequel to Trial by Fire

By Ecri

Bruce Wayne stared at the computer screen comparing the police records of members of both the Aces and the Lords. Petty theft. Disturbing the peace. Possession of narcotics. He sighed rubbing his tired eyes.

The gangs had been more active of late, and had begun to antagonize each other. More and more members of each gang were crossing boundaries into the opposition's territory. There had been more reports of fighting as well as reports of weapons being stockpiled, but the gangs had been careful. No one had been killed. Yet.

Bruce rubbed his tired eyes knowing he should be sleeping. He'd sent Dick to sleep hours ago with a promise that he wouldn't be up much longer. Still, the thought of sleep was less than appealing. Too often in the last few weeks dreams had turned to nightmares. They'd started out as the same ones with which he'd been plagued since, as a young child, he'd seen his parents murdered. Those were at least familiar, and, while unpleasant to say the least, they were hardly as frightening as the later visions his tired brain had conjured. 

The replay of his parents' death had given way to scenes of Wayne Manor on fire. This dream departed from the recent reality he'd experienced, however. In his dreams, Dick was not able to pull himself and Alfred to safety. Instead, Bruce saw himself dashing inside to find his family only to hear Dick and Alfred calling to him for help. Their coughing and screaming continued well beyond what it possibly could have in such circumstances, and soon Bruce, calling out to them and peering desperately into the smoke and flames in a futile attempt to find them, would himself be overcome by smoke. He awoke drenched in sweat and coughing, as if his throat were raw from the illusory smoke. Each night, unable to return to sleep, he'd prowled the rooms of Wayne Manor making certain that Dick and Alfred were safe.

Just last night, however, the dreams had shifted yet again. No longer was he seeing the house in flames. Now, he saw things that had no basis in reality. He saw Dick die in hideous circumstances–different each night–which resulted from his own mistakes. He saw Alfred alone and dying–devastated by Dick's early demise, and unable to forgive Bruce. He saw both his young ward and his oldest friend–His only friends. His only family–destroyed night after night in an endless, macabre parade of events. Each was his own fault.

The thought of sleep had become riddled with fear, though, despite his best efforts to the contrary, he inevitably dozed for a few hours each evening. He had discovered, quite accidentally, that the closer to dawn he succumbed to sleep, the less intense the dreams seemed. Last Saturday, he'd fallen asleep moments before dawn and managed to sleep for five hours.

He assumed his tired mind had assigned a pattern where none existed, but even the illusion that he could control these dreams made him feel better. As he pondered this, he stared again at the computer screen, but only for a few moments before exhaustion soon claimed him.

Bruce hadn't realized he'd been sleeping when he was jolted awake by the sound of screams. Heart racing, he leapt from his desk and tore down the corridors of his home. The screams were easy to identify, and Bruce headed straight for their source.

Alfred stood above Dick's bed, his hands grasping the young man's shoulders as he tried to wake him. Dick struggled to be left alone, and seemed to be trying to scramble backwards to escape.

Alfred turned towards Bruce as he stepped inside the room. "I can't wake him." His eyes pleaded with Bruce to help the boy, and Bruce stepped closer hoping something would come to him. Somehow, he thought it would be easier to face four supervillains at once than to try to calm this terrified teenager.

Bruce stepped closer and grabbed Dick's shoulders. Alfred released his hold and moved slightly back, giving Bruce more room.

"Dick?" He spoke softly for several minutes, but Dick continued to struggle, alternately screaming or mumbling. Bruce realized that Alfred had also been speaking softly, and gently shaking the young man hoping to wake him and it hadn't worked. Taking a deep breath, he raised his voice in an attempt to penetrate whatever fear Dick felt at the terrifying images his mind had conjured. "Wake up, Kid!"

Dick stopped screaming, but continued to struggle, still gasping for breath as tears streamed down his face.

Encouraged, Bruce tried again. "That's it. Wake up, now! It's not real. It's just a dream."

Dick's eyes drifted open. He blinked repeatedly, consternation plain on his face.

"Bruce? Al?" He took a long, shuddering breath. 

Bruce smiled, relieved to see his friend awake. Bruce tried to think of something to say, but all he came up with was, "You were having a bad dream." As if Dick didn't know that.

Dick nodded. "I remember."

Alfred sat on the opposite side of the bed from Bruce. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Dick vehemently shook his head. "No. I'm fine. Really."

Alfred looked skeptical at best. 

"Really." Dick glanced at Bruce for support. "It's nothing. I'm okay."

Bruce nodded, not believing his friend. He was about to leave Dick alone, as he obviously wanted it that way, when he recalled a conversation he'd had with Alfred just after the boy had learned about Batman and had invented Robin. 

"He's young," the older mad had said. "He needs direction. He needs friends. He's not likely to make many in the near future, considering the losses he has suffered. You may need to remind him he is not alone. I know you need him to remind you that you are not alone."

Bruce looked at his mentor, his father figure, and his dearest friend. A slow, small smile spread across his face. The millionaire-cum-crusader turned his attention to his wardhis chargehis friend. "I've been having nightmares, too."

Dick blinked back his surprise, as Bruce told the younger man about his own demons.

Alfred sat and listened as solemnly as Dick. When these two whom he thought of as his sons finished relating their own nightmares to each other, Alfred revealed the horrific visions that had plagued him in recent weeks.

Bruce listened thinking how odd it was that all of them had had these dreams recently, and odder still that the dreams had started about the same time, and had now grown beyond the replay of old dreams into a hybrid of memory and fears. Not that this wasn't a pattern for nightmares, but that they seemed to be on some sort of schedule.

Still, he supposed it was natural enough. The three of them were close by necessity, and it should be natural enough that the stress was a universal problem at Wayne Manor.

It wasn't for another several days that the pattern stretched the limits of credulity.

The service and décor of La Buena Comida was one of those things that was undisputed fact among the elite of Gotham. The food was beyond any expectations. The service was enough to make even a first time visitor feel like royalty. The reservations had to be made 6 months in advance. 

That Chase and Bruce had finally arranged a romantic meal together was in itself astonishing. That they'd been able to arrange a table at La Buena Comida was astonishing. 

Bruce was halfway through the Pollos al Chilindrón and Chase about a third through her Paella when her shoptalk set off alarms in his professionally suspicious mind. He paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, when he asked her to clarify something. "You're saying that your client base has doubled in the last six weeks? That seems unusual to say the least."

"Tell me about it!" Chase agreed spearing a scallop on her fork. "Gotham is having a breakdown."

"Do you mind me asking what sort of a breakdown?"

"Well, I have to say, it puzzled me." The psychiatrist admitted. "All of the new patients, and most of the old ones, have been troubled by nightmares."

Bruce carefully placed his fork down in his plate, giving Chase all of his attention. "Can you tell me what kind?"

She looked at him wondering what he was asking. "What kind?" She shook her head. "I can't give you specifics. I can say that the dreams are intense. Real emotional stuff"

"Only what?" Bruce prompted, wishing she would come right out with it.

She tried to brush away the concern, but found herself unable. "It's only that, in the last week or so, things have gotten moreviolent. The dreamers are seeing themselves doing things or having things done to them or their families that they'd never envisioned."

Bruce trued to get as much information from Chase as he could, but, over dessert, she called him on it. 

"Did you want to take notes?" She danced her fork across the top of her creme brulee without actually breaking the crust.

Bruce smiled sheepishly at being caught. "I'm sorry, Chase. I need to know."

"Why is this important?"

"I thought it was just me. Then I found out that Alfred and Dick are having dreams, too. If this is a citywide phenomenon, it must be more than coincidence." He looked across the table at her, his dark eyes catching her lighter ones. "Can these dreams be artificially induced?"

She shook her head. "I don't see how. The only way I know to consciously bring on nightmares is to eat a pepperoni and anchovy pizza right before bed."

He laughed at her joke, but his dark eyes were broody. His mind raced to tackle this problem.

"Bruce, how could someone possibly cause nightmares in an entire city?"

Bruce shrugged. "Hallucinogenic drugs?"

"No. The physicals on my patients are clean."

  
"Physicals? Is that usual in psychiatry?"

"I need to be know if they need to see me first or the rehab center."

Bruce nodded. "Have you been having nightmares?"

"Me? No."

"You objected kind of quickly. Sure you're not hiding something?"

"If I were hiding anything, it would be hidden so well that it wouldn't occur to you that I was hiding it." She paused, concerned for him. "But if you're having dreams"

"Alfred and Dick are, too."

"Well, maybe we should talk about it."

"When?"

"That depends on when you're free to come and lie down on my couch."

Bruce smiled and signaled the waiter to bring the check.

TBC


	3. Part 3

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just visiting. I'm not making any money, and have no intention of trying to make money.

Author's note: This is a sequel to my previous story Trial by Fire. It might be a good idea to read that one first. After I'd posted the last chapter of Trial by Fire, I realized I hadn't quite finished. 

Additional Author's Note: I am truly sorry for the interminable wait between the last chapter update and this one. I can only say that I am doing my best to stay on top of this now that I have rediscovered my muse. It was hiding.

Living Through the Nightmares Part 3

Sequel to Trial by Fire

By Ecri

Richard Grayson sat in the kitchen at Wayne Manor hoping he hadn't woken anyone. He sipped at the glass of milk he'd gotten more out of habit than desire. It had been a long night of crime fighting for Batman and Robin, and he'd thought sleep would come easily. It had, really. He'd drifted into a deep sleep almost immediately. He just couldn't stay there. 

The dreams were getting worse. He had to admit it, even if it was just to himself. He never would have guessed they could get worse. They hadn't been this bad since he'd first arrived at Wayne Manor. 

At first, he'd believe that killing Two-Face would banish them, but he'd been wrong. Watching Two-Face die had not alleviated the pain or the guilt of his own survival when those he loved had plummeted to their deaths. He'd thought at first that was because he himself had not killed Two-Face, but he'd soon realized that wasn't really it. Pursuing the arch-villain had been a distraction. Concentrating on that, he could hide from the pain, pretend to himself that he had dealt with it or would deal with it later. His denial that his family were gone would surface mostly at night when, lying in bed with his eyes closed, he realized he could make himself believe that he was lying not in the elaborate guest room at Wayne Manor, but in his own bunk in the trailer. He could envision his brother sleeping in the bunk next to his own, and his parents on just the other sign of the partition that served as a wall. 

Memories from tonight's nightmares surfaced unbidden, eradicating any pleasant memory that might have given him solace. These visions had been particularly–horrifying. Seeing his family lying on the floor of arenahe shuddered forcing the nightmare images to give way to the memories in the hopes that this might banish the nightmares.

Crawling down off the support beams had been the longest few minutes of his life. He'd tried to hurry down, but his father's voice resonated in his head reminding him, as it had at nearly every practice session they'd ever had, that haste was every aerialist's enemy. 

When he'd finally reached the floor, some of the other circus people, his friends, had tried to stop him, desperately holding him back, telling him not to look. He felt their hands clutching at him, pulling him aside, holding him back, but, even now, he wasn't sure who had been there. He'd swatted their hands away, pushing someone down, and struggling with every muscle in his body to run to his family.

Finally, they were unable to hold him. Like a just-fired catapult, he shot out from their well-meaning grips screaming for his parents, calling Chris' name. A policeman tried to restrain him as the Emergency Medical Technicians arrived, but he might as well have tired to restrain a panther from striking. Reaching his mother's side, he called to her, his voice holding all his anguish and disbelief. "Mom!" He reached out an unsteady hand, a hand that shook for the first time in his young life, causing him to stare at it mutely. He looked at his other hand, and saw it shaking, too. Brushing that aside knowing he would deal with it later, he called to his mother again, stroking her cheek. "Mom?" 

He waited for the tears he knew should come, but he felt only a growing numbness as he turned his attention to his father. He spoke again, his voice a pale shadow of the shout he'd uttered when he'd first reached his mother's side. "Dad"

He was afraid now. To turn to Chris and see his broken, bleeding body would reconfirm the unfathomable. He turned his head, fear and grief warring in his eyes, and looked at his brother. "Chris" His voice was a whisper, until he saw the police photographer. "Get away from him!" His shout echoed through the arena. "I said get away!" 

Richard sprang from the floor, rage burning brightly in his eyes. Launching himself at the photographer, he pushed the man away, satisfied when he stumbled backwards trying to find his balance. He would have followed the photographer, but firm hands gripped his shoulders. Turning in anger, he saw Bruce Wayne. "They have a job to do. Let them do it."

He'd been about to scream at the man to leave him alone, but he felt drained. His strength suddenly left him and he allowed Bruce to lead him to the stands. He sat silently as the police did their work, not answering any questions, not responding. 

The rest was a blur. Somehow, he'd ended up at Police Headquarters. He was fairly sure they'd asked him a lot of questions. He knew he'd heard the Chief of Police talking to someone from the Circus about who his guardian was. The man pleaded ignorance. Overhearing something about social workers was what first made him realize how drastically his life was about to change. 

Bruce Wayne's offer, given to him by the Chief of Police, had seemed a good option. Let them think he would take the Billionaire up on his offer, then, once the police weren't looking, he'd be free to hunt Two-Face.

Of course, it hadn't really gone like that. Bruce talked him into staying, and now, he found himself half of a crime-fighting duoand settling into a new life with a new family. The thought itself caused him to cringe. Family. He loved his new life, but sometimes, often, the idea that he'd had to lose his original family so irretrievably made his mind reel and his heartache. 

He assumed, when he vowed to kill Two-Face, that he would be able to deal with it. Bruce had been right, though. 

Thinking of Two-Face had been a mistake. He'd figured prominently in tonight's dream, and now, Dick found himself there again. Two-Face stood above his family, brandishing weapons he'd never held in reality. 

"We are making an example of you!" The dream Two-Face said. "You" and the villain spun violently until his weapon pointed at Dick's family. "You raised a boy who would be a superhero. You didn't think ahead, now did you?"

He turned again to face Dick. "You should give it up, my boy! The crime-fighting life is not a rewarding one, take it from us!" With that, he spun again, weapon pointing at the Graysons as his maniacal laughter rang through the arena. Instantaneously, the Two-Face threatening his family tableau morphed into The Riddler menacing Al. The weapon was a flame-thrower.

Dick clenched his eyes at the memory of the dream, how he had gone from the arena to the burning interior of Bruce's mansion as only dreams can, and how he had tried to save Al only to have flames engulf his dear friend, and hear the laughter of Two-Face and the Riddler melt into a single, horrifying, taunting sound.

He pounded his fist on the kitchen table so hard the glass he'd drained of milk wobbled unsteadily as if about to go down. He righted it with the slightest of movements, angry with himself all over again. He'd thought he'd dealt with this, but the images would not leave him.

He didn't want to return to bed, but he didn't want to wake anyone, either. Having no other option, he sat alone in the kitchen seeming to stare at the drop of milk on the bottom of the glass, and but seeing only falling bodies, swirling flames, and hideous, laughing monsters.


	4. Part 4

****

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just visiting. I'm not making any money, and have no intention of trying to make money. 

Author's note: This is a sequel to my previous story Trial by Fire. It might be a good idea to read that one first

Again, I am sorry for the long wait for this next chapter. I've been distracted by an epic West Wing story and a few persistent LOTR ideas. 

Reviews appreciated.

****

Living Through the Nightmares Part 4

Sequel to Trial by Fire

By Ecri

Silently, he watched the monitors as dawn approached. Deep underground in his hidden lair, he could not see the gradual lightening of the sky, but the pattern of the city's ritual awakening each day was impossible to miss. 

He looked at his machine, his wonderful, ingenious invention, and knew he had to shut it off again. He has so hoped to be able to find a way to keep the thing running twenty-four hours a day. Still the daily tinkering was paying off. He had been able to boost the intensity of the waves. They were now three times what they'd been when he'd first switched it on all those weeks ago.

He'd heard a slight buzz of people complaining about their dreams recently, and, as the effects worsened and intensified he knew he would soon be able to reveal his involvement and make his demands.

  
He laughed gleefully, if not a little maniacally. Tonight, if his day's research and tinkering went as he hoped, would be the worst night in Gotham's long, colorful history.

**

Bruce Wayne initialed the documents and handed them back to his secretary. He'd noticed the dark circles under her eyes, but when he'd asked her how she was, she'd smiled and insisted she was fine. He couldn't really push the point and ask if she'd been having any bad dreams, but his curiosity was getting the better of him.

At his last meeting, he'd found himself examining every face in the room for signs of poor sleep. He knew he was being irrational, but he also knew, without quite knowing how, that something sinister was happening. 

It was frustrating to say the least that he couldn't figure it out. He had no way of investigating this. There hadn't really been a crime committed as far as he could tell. There were no clues to follow. 

The increase in gang activity might be a beginning, but Bruce felt that was likely a symptom rather than the core of the problem.

  
As he pondered these things, he glanced out the window just in time to see the bat signal blink on in the center of the darkening sky. 

**

Robin was waiting in the Batcave when Bruce arrived. "I'll meet you at the Signal." He was just pulling on his helmet and climbing aboard the Redbird. "Any clue what this is about."

"A few ideas." Bruce avoided elaborating as he donned his suit and became Batman. "Robin, have you been dreaming?"

"Robin doesn't dream. Dick Grayson does."

"Don't avoid the question."

"I'm not. I'm avoiding the answer."

"Robin"

"Batmanwe don't have time for psychoanalysis."

Reluctantly, he nodded. "Okay. Go. I'll meet you there." He watched as Robin revved the Redbird and raced from the cave.

In moments, he sped after him, the Batmobile cutting through Gotham's night.

**

Commissioner Gordon stood by the Batsignal waiting for Gotham's guardians. He knew some people referred to the Dynamic Duo as vigilantes, but whatever you called them, you had to call them effective. He'd been a police officer for thirty years before becoming Commissioner, and he knew an effective gambit when he saw one. Batman and Robin effectively diminished crime. 

At least they had until recently. He was bothered by the increase in petty crime and gang violence. Last night's arrests were particularly disturbing. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't realized Batman and Robin now stood before him.

"Commissioner? You called."

"Yes! Thank you for coming so quickly." Commissioner Gordon held out a police file. "I wanted you to take a look at these arrests. My officers brought in several people last night who seemed to beaffected by something."

"Affected?" Batman thumbed through the file, scanning the pages as Robin leaned towards him to get a glimpse.

"Yes. They were all first-time offenders. Arresting officers insist that in each case, the people arrested acted as if they were waking from a dream. One was shot in the shoulder as he resisted arrest, but once he was down screamed that it was all a nightmare and he would wake soon."

Batman read the reports. Living nightmarescrimes committed while under the influence ofwhat? Mind control? Insomnia? An idea was forming in his mind. "Commissioner, I may need to question some of these people you've arrested. Can that be arranged?"

"Anything you need, Batman."

Batman nodded. "Good. We'll be in touch." With not another word, he and Robin departed leaving the Commissioner staring after them.

**

Batman and Robin roamed the streets that night making a few arrests. These criminals, too, spoke and acted as though they were waking from a nightmare as they were brought into custody.

Later that evening, Robin asked Batman about it. "How could someone force another person to commit a crime without them being aware of it?"

"That's what we're going to find out."

"How?"

"We need to know more about these people committing the crimes. I'm going to talk to Chase. She can help me in the interviews."

"Interviews? You're Batman! Just make them tell you what you want to know."

"It doesn't work that way and you know it."

Robin sighed in frustration. "I do know that, but it would be more convenient if it did."

"Convenience and crime fighting don't really go together." Batman watched as Robin shook his head as if to clear it and stifled a yawn. "Why don't you get some sleep?"

Robin's head snapped up, and even obscured by a mask, Batman could see that his eyes were wide with fear. "NoI meanI'll justwork on my bike!" He turned abruptly towards the Redbird and began to assess what little damage had been done to it recently.

Batman watched him for a moment. "Listen, I don't have proof that it helps, but try sleeping after dawn. The dreams seem less severe at that hour."

Robin froze for a moment, then glanced back at his partner. "Thanks." Without another word, the two continued working until dawn.

**

Bruce Wayne stared at the files in his hands. The last several days, he and Chase had questioned the criminals who had seemed to be in dreamlike states upon arrest. Each had described intense nightmares, a developing fear of sleeping, and in some cases, violence or criminal activity had seemed to be the result. In each case the crime had come from the dream. Each person had imagined the crime in vivid detail in a dream. The following night, what, to them, felt like a recurrence of that dream had ended in a jail cell and under arrest.

Chase had suggested mind control, but doubted there was anyone who could do such a thing on such a large scale.

Bruce had to disagree. Rather, his alter ego, Batman, had to disagree. Something was telling the Caped Crusader that he knew precisely who was involved.

To be continued


	5. part 5

****

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just visiting. I'm not making any money, and have no intention of trying to make money. 

Author's note: This is a sequel to my previous story Trial by Fire. It might be a good idea to read that one first

I hope this speedy update in some way makes up for the long wait for previous chapters.

Reviews appreciated.

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Living Through the Nightmares Part 5

Sequel to Trial by Fire

By Ecri

The Riddler giggled as he contemplated his success. Over the last few weeks, laws in Gotham had become something only insomniacs could obey. Granted, there were more than the usual number of those recently, but overall, his percentages were precisely where he'd expected them to be.

He reached over to his machine, which broadcast a combination of subliminal messages and high frequency tones that manipulated a person's dreams. He was able now to direct what people saw in their dreams, and that kind of power, he was learning, was an intoxicating thing. 

Earlier in the experimental stage, he'd found he could only disrupt normal sleep patterns, which had left his subjects irritable, but didn't affect their behavior very much. Continued work and manipulation of the frequencies, combined with an odorless, invisible gas he'd been spraying over the city, had enabled him first to ensure bad dreams, and later to direct those dreams as far as how bad things became.

His virtual reality programs could also turn a dream into a VR world. He was hoping to be able to torture a certain flying rodent with that one, but first he had to find a way to catch the Caped Crusader and his irritating sidekick.

The Riddler glanced at his machine. It wouldn't be long. He typed a command on the keyboard. "Yes. That's right. All who hear this will steal the first rare collectible they come across tomorrow, and bring it to me." He thought again, and added, still typing, "If they are caught, they won't remember the drop point at all." He laughed again, enjoying his own cleverness. His plan would soon come to fruition.

**

Dick Grayson had tried to stay awake until dawn, but rarely had he failed so miserably at anything in his life. He'd been asleep only a few hours when it had started, and, though some part of himself had known he was dreaming, and had even tried to rip himself from the essence of the dream world, he had been frighteningly helpless in the face of the terrors his mind created.

He stared at television, not really seeing the images that played before him. He'd passed out while watching Casablanca, but that was long since over. Try as he might, he couldn't even really remember how much of the movie he'd seen. It had blurred together somehow and melded with his dreams the way nightmares do, bizarre and disconcerting.

He stood, unable to watch anymore and threw the remote onto the table. He was too tired not to sleep, and yet the very thought of closing his eyes was making him ill.

As he wandered through the mansion he somehow had come to consider home, he tried to think of anything other than the nightmare images that lingered in his mind. 

As he passed Bruce's study, he peered inside. Bruce wasn't there. Dick knew he'd gone to the Batcave to work on some sort of upgrade to the computers, and was considering joining his friend, until something caught his eye. He stepped inside the room and moved closer to the object.

It was a small coin in a mounted display case. He'd asked Al about it once when he'd first moved in, and the British gentleman had explained that it was one of the rarest coins in the world. It had been the last coin Bruce's father had ever bought for his own coin collection, so Bruce had given it pride of place in the study. It was priceless.

As Dick stared at it, he was suddenly gripped by an unquenchable desire to have it. It was absurd. He argued with himself that, sure it was Bruce's, but Bruce was never going to sell it, so he could see it whenever he liked. He'd never been enamored of coin collecting anyway. That he wanted this one so badly was baffling.

  
Try as he might, however, Dick could not turn his back on the coin. Each time he did, he would find himself inexplicably in front of it again as though he'd never stepped away. He reached up towards the display case. He had to have it, to touch it. As soon as he took it down, the pressure, the insistence in his mind morphed into another kind. He had to take the coin to

"Dick, what are you doing up?"

Dick spun towards the still open study door. His mouth opened and closed several times, but he never uttered a sound.

Bruce took in the startled look, the frightened demeanor, and the coin case in his young friend's hands. He knew what this looked like, but refused to believe it. Dick would not steal from him. "What are you doing with that?" Bruce gestured to the coin case still in Dick's hand.

Dick looked down at his own hands, startled. He looked at the case as though he'd never seen it before. Then, as if of their own accord, his nerveless fingers released the case sending it crashing to the ground. The glass shattered sending slivers everywhere, but still Dick stared down at his hands.

Bruce took a step forward. "Don't worry about it." He whispered, though he was fairly certain the boy couldn't hear him. The lax look on his face, the eyes bright and wide, and his behavior spoke ofsomething. Bruce was sure drugs weren't the cause. Could this be a psychological problem? Something had Dick scared.

He took another step forward, putting a hand on Dick's arm to try to lead him away from the shattered glass scattered across the floor so he wouldn't step on it, when Dick stopped him. "Something's not" before he could finish the thought, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell. Bruce caught him before he could hit the floor, and called for the only person who had ever been able to help him. "Alfred!"

To be continued


	6. part 6

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Author's note: To **Cyberkat, Adolescent Jess, and Pinkchick**, thanks for the reviews. I'm trying to keep updating on a more regular basis, and I hope this makes up for the long lull! I know where this story is going in a broad sense. It's just the details that are taking some time!

Reviews appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just visiting. I'm not making any money, and have no intention of trying to make money. 

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Living Through the Nightmares Part 5

Sequel to Trial by Fire

By Ecri

Alfred kept himself busy in the kitchen, though the excitement for the evening seemed to be over. When he had heard Bruce call him, his voice laced with all the fear with which his younger self had imbued the Englishman's name, Alfred's blood had run cold. He had rarely heard the younger man sound so desperate and, yes he would admit–though Bruce never would–afraid. Whatever had happened to Bruce Wayne's Ward, had shaken the man. He hadn't known what to do and so had turned to the one constant in his life to rectify the situation, to put things to rights, to fix it.

Alfred poured a cool glass of water and several cups of hot tea. Balancing them on the serving tray, he moved quickly towards the living room, where he'd left the two men he considered his sons. 

He and Bruce had moved the unconscious Dick Grayson to the room once they had determined that he seemed to have suffered no injury. Bruce had been worried enough to mention calling an ambulance, but a surprisingly strong grip on his arm and a shaky voice asked him to let it go.

"Please, Bruce. I'm fine. No hospitals." It was the look in the young man's eyes rather than the belief that everything was all right that had compelled Bruce to acquiesce.

  
Now, Alfred wondered if he'd made a mistake. Something had caused the young man to collapse. It couldn't be passed off as normal. 

  
He entered the living room, and slid the tray onto the coffee table, offering hot tea and cold water to whomever preferred whatever. He was somewhat surprised when Dick chose to drink the weak chamomile, but wisely chose not to mention it.

"Honest, Bruce, I'm fine." Dick reiterated for what Alfred was certain was the hundredth time since the butler had left the room.

"Dick, I've agreed not to call an ambulance, but we need to have someone take a look at you. I can get a house call. You'll never have to leave your room if you don't want to."

Stubbornly, Dick shook his head. "No. Bruce, I'm fine."

"People who are fine don't collapse!"

"I didn't collapse! Ifell down!"

"After you lost consciousness!"

Dick was about to respond when Alfred interrupted. "Perhaps we should simply determine what you were doing that led up to yourincident."

Bruce nodded. "Yes, you were standing in my study with the coin display in your hands."

Dick paled noticeably, but didn't comment.

"What were you doing?" Bruce pushed.

Dick looked down at his hands and saw they were shaking. He concentrated on willing them to stop, but the more he tried the more violently they shook, until, in frustration, he stood and walked across the room hiding his hands behind his back. He knew what he'd been doing. He'd wanted to steal the coin. It was an overwhelming urge, and thinking of it now made him want to scream until his throat went raw. He'd wanted to steal the coin and take it tohe opened his mouth to try to tell Bruce, but his throat seized, and he nearly choked on the very air he breathed. Panic hit him, and he clutched at his throat trying to ease the spasms before he stopped breathing all together.

While he struggled for breath, he finally noticed that Bruce was there by his side again, Alfred standing just beside him. They were looking down at him. Only then did he realize he was on the floor. They were speaking, but he was passed hearing. Alfred slipped away then, and Bruce turned his attention to his young ward. "Hang on, Dick. Help is on the way." Dick never heard a word as he slipped again into unconsciousness.

**

Chase Meridian slammed down the phone in her office. That was the seventh call from one of her patients, and each had ended up either in jail or in the hospital in the last 24 hours. It was puzzling. Four of them had been patients for years, and three had just joined her recently. All had complained of debilitating nightmares, but none had ever committed a crime. Why then would four of them end up in jail being held for attempted theft while the other three were being treated for unexplained collapse? She could make no sense of it.

The phone rang again, and she steeled herself for patient number eight. She was right and wrong. 

  
"Chase, it's Bruce."

"Hi! Bruce is everything okay. You sound tired." She heard him sigh, and knew there was a long explanation coming.

"I've just taken Dick to the hospital. He collapsed last night."

Chase sat down. This was it. Four and Four, though Dick Grayson wasn't technically her patient. "When? How? What happened?"

Bruce described the events of the preceding evening, but his frustration bubbled over when he told her what the doctors had said. "They won't diagnose him. They say they won't speculate until the tests are completed, but I can tell they haven't got a clue."

"Bruce, are you still at the hospital?"

"Yes. We'll probably be here at least all day. They haven't decided whether to admit him or not, and, knowing how he feels about hospitals, I'm not sure I'd let them keep him if they can't give me some sort of solid reason for it."

"I'm coming right over. I have something to discuss with you, and it might be more revealing about what's happening to Dick than anything the doctors there could tell you." Chase was already selecting files and putting them in her briefcase and scribbling a hasty note to her secretary. "I won't be long, Bruce." She hung up not waiting for his reply.

**

Bruce, Chase, Alfred, and Dick sat around Dick's hospital bed going over what details they could. She couldn't share with them the identities or particulars of her patient's problems, but the generalities were interesting enough. Three of her patients were experiencing just what Dick was. She'd sought them out and questioned them, but their reactions were identical to Dick's. Twice, Chase had asked Dick about what he'd been thinking the previous evening before he collapsed, and twice he'd gotten pale and shaky before passing out again.

Now, the teenager was angry and annoyed. "I can't just avoid this! The answers are here! If I could remember what it is"

Alfred placed a restraining hand on the boy's arm. "Don't. We wouldn't want you to pass out again."

Chase was silent for a few moments, then caught Dick's eyes and held them. "We may be able to find out another way."

"How?" He was eager for answers.

"Hypnosis."

"You mean that cluck like a chicken stuff?" His distaste was apparent. There had been a hypnotist at the circus where he'd worked all his life with his family.

Chase shook her head. "That's entertainment. Clinical hypnosis is different. You'll be able to bring yourself out of it if it seems too much for you, and we'll be here to be sure you're okay. I've used it with my patients many times."

Dick considered it. "I'd rather do it from home." He said, turning the statement into a request to be taken there immediately with just the way he looked at Bruce.

Bruce turned to Chase. "Is it safer to do it here?"

"Hypnosis is perfectly safe in any environment. Maybe more safe wherever the subject is most comfortable.

Dick grinned at Chase's words, sensing they might be enough to spring him from the hospital. His hopeful thoughts were confirmed when Bruce nodded his agreement and headed down the hall to secure his release.

Several hours later, they sat scattered around the Wayne Manor living room. Chase had insisted Dick be as comfortable as possible, and had asked if he'd rather do this one on one, but the boy had panicked at the idea. He trusted Chase, but he needed his family.

Chase seated herself in a chair facing her subject. "Okay. Let's begin."

Dick breathed exactly as she instructed, listening only to her voice. He found himself drifting into a peaceful place, not slumber exactly, but restful, warm, secure.

When Chase was sure he was under, she began with her questions. "Dick, you were in the study last night. Tell me why."

"Nightmareswoke me."

"What nightmares?"

Dick shuddered as if even the memories were too painful to recall, but he answered her. "Nightmares of fire and falling and violence and death." He shuddered again. A sudden look of panic crossed his face. "Alfred! The fire!"

  
"Alfred is fine." Chase kept her voice carefully modulated to project comfort and peace. She was calm, keeping her own emotions well out of the room. Dick had enough of his own fears to deal with. "Alfred came through the fire just fine. Why did you go to the study?"

Dick's face twisted in concentration. "I was walkingI fell asleep watching Casablancathe nightmares woke me and I wanted to walk"

"You went to the study?" Chase prodded gently.

"I think I was looking for Brucebut the coin caught my eye." Dick's hands began to tremble.

"There's nothing that can harm you here. Take a deep breath and remember that you're safe. No matter what you remember, it can't hurt you." She took a chance and added, "No matter what you were told."

Bruce looked at her, a puzzled look on his face. He looked over at Alfred, who merely shrugged, not sure himself what the young woman meant.

Dick visibly calmed and began to speak again. "I wanted the coinI had to have itI had to bring it"

"Bring it where?" Chase asked when he stopped speaking.

"To the Riddler."

Chase looked at Bruce who returned her glance, trepidation coursing through him as he began to ponder the connection of Dick's revelation with what was going on all over Gotham.

He'd suspected the Riddler was up to something, but he hadn't had enough pieces to the puzzle. Now, with Dick's help, he might be able to figure out the villain's plan.

"How were you going to bring it to the Riddler?" Chase asked.

"Take it to the RiddlerForget it all if caught"

"Forget what? Where do you take it?"

"To the" His hands began to tremble again, but just when Chase was about to try to sooth him, they stopped. She looked up, startled by the sudden change, and saw Dick looking her in the eye, all traces of the fear and the aftereffects of hypnosis gone.

"I know where he is." He whispered. He stood and headed out of the room towards the hidden entrance to the Batcave, Chase, Alfred, and Bruce trailing along behind.

To Be Continued.


End file.
